For Love of Flying
by smilingcrescent
Summary: Harry Potter loves Quidditch, but doesn't like the hospital wing. How can Tom help him recover? (Tom Riddle in Harry's timeline. Light romance: snogging.) Excerpt: Harry broke away, breathing, "tell me how you did it." He too could snake a hand around Tom's defenses, and Harry took full advantage of the flustered agitation to pull firmly on the green-and-silver tie.


**Warnings:** mild slash/yaoi.

**Disclaimer**: no money is involved in the writing of this fiction. Harry Potter (et al) belong to their copyright holders.

**Now…Why is Tom in Harry's timeline?** Because I wrote this for a friend.  I actually wrote a back-story for it, but I have deleted it from the site. If you want to follow the back story, follow the Ao3 link on my profile- you can read it there.

* * *

**For Love of Flying**  
(A Harry Potter / Tom Riddle hurt-and-comfort fic)

Harry Potter put a hand to his head, wishing the sensation of falling would go away. He climbed the steps not to Gryffindor tower, where there surely would be a party, but to a certain first floor bathroom. The hallways were as he expected to find them: mostly empty, but with echoes of furious activity in levels close to the dormitories.

If he walked carefully, he could avoid all of the rabble and— Harry skidded to a stop, ducking as an object came soaring out of a classroom.

He squinted at the thing as it whizzed overhead, and tried to decide if he should attempt to stop it, or let it move on its way.

He was still trying to come to a decision when a familiar voice hailed him. "Hello, Harry. So this is what Quidditch heroes look like immediately after a match?" Tom's lips curled upwards in an ironic smile. "I can't say I'm much impressed."

Ignoring the jibe, Harry gestured after the object. "Was that one of yours?"

"Mmm..."

"It nearly knocked me on my back, you know."

But Tom didn't seem to be listening. He took two steps closer to Harry, his smile falling away as he took in Harry's disheveled appearance. Harry half held his breath as the taller boy reached out. "You've hit your head. Why aren't you in the hospital wing?"

Harry shook Tom's hand off, ignored the flash of hot-to-cold, and frowned. Belatedly, he said, "What do you mean? It's nothing."

Distracted, Harry looked back from the long gone object (he was thinking it might have been a firecracker), and observed Tom for a minute.

"Bleeding. Your head is bleeding. Are you too proud to go to the hospital wing, or did you want me to kiss it better? I could, you know..."

"Whatever. I'll stop by the Hospital Wing later..." Harry snapped as Tom continued smirking at him.

Tom's expression made Harry rethink those words. "Um. You did want to look into that thing, didn't you?" He tried to look less annoyed, and in his excitement about finally learning what was going on, forgot about his pains. "We agreed this was the best time to look in on it. No one will notice in the commotion if we just—"

"I already looked at the statue...and the ones on that floor. If I can't sense or see anything, I doubt _you_ can, Potter." Tom stood rigid, still half extended toward Harry. Finally, he moved with unnatural slowness, bringing his hand to Harry's cheek. "Let's take a look at your head...you're probably concussed."

"It really is nothing. I've got a headache, that's all..." Harry chewed his lip. "I didn't want to bother Madam Pomfrey..."

Tom snorted. "Did that ever stop anyone from sending you there before?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Listen, I _don't_ want to get kicked off the team...things have been." Harry winced as Tom brushed his fingers against the spot again. "Stop that. Things have been tense between you and...well, me...and everything." He said lamely, knowing full well that the explanation wouldn't make Tom understand

"Your going-to-get-medical-attention has little or nothing to do with your belonging-to-the-Quidditch-team." Tom remarked coolly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "If you ever bothered to listen about anything Quidditch related, you'd know that with sufficient reason, health or grades related, my Head of House can pull me off the team whenever she bloody well likes. If she thinks I'm—if this," he gestured vaguely, trying to indicate their situation at large. "...is not going to go away, she might," between the pain and the look Tom was giving him, Harry was determined to make Tom understand.

Tom was silent for a moment, his dark eyes calculating. "...if you're sure..."

Harry rolled his eyes. "This is nothing. Back home, I get hit with a frying pan."

Tom was silent, wondering if Harry was serious or joking. Finally, he started muttering comments vaguely directed at Harry. "Head wounds require a lot of attention the muggle way. For starters, you need to stay up a while. Are you drowsy? Your pupils don't look too enlarged, I suppose. How's your balance? Did you lose consciousness?"

"No—none of that. Wait, drowsy?" Harry asked. "No, I don't think so. Just distracted. I have a headache is all."

"Oh?" Tom's lips quirked. "You're allowed to sleep in fifteen minute intervals if you want to. In the meantime, I think we need to stich your head wound closed —you are bleeding, remember?—and put some cold cloths and things on your head." He looked at Harry closely, his white hands suddenly clasped around Harry's wrists. His grip was so strong it hurt.

"Tom." Harry interrupted, pretending he wasn't suddenly suspicious as hell.

"Also need to keep an eye on your pupils, watch for paralysis or signs of your brain swelling…" Tom released Harry.

"Brain swelling?" Harry stopped, barely listening to the ever more alarming list of possible symptoms.

Tom continued. "You're not supposed to do any more sports, or think about anything difficult."

"Well...I didn't say no magic..." Harry smiled wanly, "...so if you can episkey it away...I wouldn't mind."

Tom shook his head. "I never learned the healing charms well enough. The most I can do is bring you a potion. I could give it to you before dinner if you like."

Harry nodded absently, his mind racing. Where would the others be?

"Let's get you in bed, then." Tom said conversationally, but his voice didn't have quite the right tone to it. He seemed too careful to be natural.

Harry hesitated again, unsure if he should follow Tom into the Slytherin rooms, or if Tom meant to find some way into Harry's. Ordinarily they would spend time outside, or find an empty classroom (Hogwarts was quite obliging in that respect) or a rarely used corridor, but bed?

Catching sight of Harry's bewildered expression, Tom slowed his pace, and raised an eyebrow. "I was thinking of the Room of Requirement." He said smoothly. "It's on the seventh floor corridor, though, so we'll take it slow, hm?" Tom glanced around contemplatively. "We ought to see about finding another place to meet. Something closer to ground floor in case of emergencies..."

"Right..." Harry agreed. "But it's either that or go back into the mass of students bound to be in the common rooms. So we foot it."

"And with you being in the towers," Tom reasoned, "the common room isn't really a better option. The Room of Requirement it is."

They fell into silence as the two of them made their way up. Harry occasionally took hold of Tom's wrist or shoulder, using him as an anchor whenever he thought the step would disappear beneath his foot.

_Now is not the time to be stuck in a magical stair._ Harry thought.

"Tom." Harry said at the top of one such stair. "Hold up." And he rested against the wall, staring into Tom's dark eyes. He wondered vaguely if Ginny would guess. If she would find them.

Tom wordlessly cast a feather-light charm on Harry's feet, careful to keep a hand on the small of Harry's back. For balance, of course. He leaned in to put his face close to Harry's. "If you're too dizzy," he observed, "close your eyes. I'll get you there in one piece."

So Harry, ignoring the burning sensation in his cheeks, took Tom's advice and did just that. Half for the experience—being lead through a castle blindfolded seemed cautiously interesting. And half to make the other slow _down_.

_Moving was easier,_ he thought, _before I got off my broom._

Tom must have been imagining a more comfortable version of the hospital wing, because when the door finished arranging itself, there was a double cot, and shelves of medical potions.

"Nice." Harry grinned, swinging forward a bit too quickly to flop in one of the more comfortable looking cots.

Tom gave a wry smile and sat gingerly next to Harry. He turned over a fifteen minute hour glass in case Harry should like to nap, he would need to wake him every fifteen minutes. Then he pulled a cover over Harry. Rather than bother with his wand as he did before the other students, Tom gestured towards the water pitcher and glass. A stream of water drifted from the cup, reflecting the cool green and blue artificial lighting streaming in from the windows.

"Hey, I thought we said you'd try to avoid using wandless magic. I mean, wait," Harry bit his lip, "Don't look at me like that. I'm not confused, and I know what's going on. It's not the concussion speaking...probably." He took a sip from the water and made an attempt to break the silence. Tom certainly wasn't going to.

A minute passed with Tom regarding him silently. He studied the handiwork of his imagination, and his eyes flicked back to Harry when he cleared his throat.

"It's like we're in a dream... an underwater dream. What's with the colors, anyway?"

Tom shrugged. "Someone mentioned that cool colors are healing...soothing. I thought it'd help you relax." His eyes narrowed. "Would you rather I switch to haughty gold and red?"

Harry made an indecisive noise.  
"...let's take off your hideously gaudy robes..." Tom murmured absently before he got up to examine the neat rows of potions.  
Harry rolled his eyes at the unnecessary comment, and tried to think of something witty to snap back. Something that _didn't_ call to mind a more sexual implication...  
Tom seemed to take great pleasure at uncapping the potions and watching Harry's reaction to their smells. "These should do the trick... But we really ought to clean your hair, and get you out of those clothes. Scourgify is probably too rough for your head, though."

Just to the side, there seemed to be a hazy spot in the Requirement-Room-turned-infirmary. As Tom studied it, it began to take form. A sort of large basin filled with water next to a set of small pumps clearly labeled with a red cross. "There. You need to rinse out the blood. You can sit down and lean into the bowl of water. I'll rinse your hair for you."

Harry nodded absently, walking over to the basin in a daze. He had a feeling Tom was avoiding answering him about something (what was it again?), but the nagging sensation seemed a lot less important than cooling his head under the water. He situated himself easily.

"Which way should I face?" He wondered, thinking of Muggle barber shops Dudley and Uncle Vernon had been to. "Like this?"

Tom ran his fingers across Harry's cheek. "Just so."

Slowly, he began to drizzle water over Harry's head from what looked like a large shell. Harry tried not to shiver at the liquid, but he did. "Is it cold?" Tom frowned, testing the water on his own skin. "It seems warm."

"No, it's fine. I'm just sweaty and everything...once I get washed off and in new clothes...and back in bed...I think I'll be fine." Harry mumbled his assurances. His concentration was on the sensation of Tom's fingers in his hair.

"Thanks..." he said at last.

Tom teasingly splashed a bit of water on his cheek. "We'll finish up soon enough."

"...no hurry..." Harry grinned, determined not to let the shivers return.

Harry felt his consciousness begin to drift as Tom worked his fingers through his hair. The boy was surprisingly gentle...the pads of his fingers brushed firmly against his scalp at places, and teased out tangles Harry didn't know he had. He began to fall asleep, despite the slight chill.

"Wake up." Tom flicked water on Harry's nose. "It's been fifteen minutes. Wake up for a minute in case you're concussed."

"I'm awake..." Harry mumbled. "It's like a massage…'s nice…"

"Ok, you can rest a bit. Do you want to move to the bed?"

He registered the question just in time. "Oh. Yeah. Sure." Harry nodded groggily, and slowly stood up.

Tom brushed Harry's hair away from his face, tracing his cheekbones with his fingertips. Harry leaned farther against the pillows and gave a little sigh.

While Harry was still distracted, Tom slid next to him and closed his eyes. There was a brief scent of long grass, a faint tang of spices, but no more than a barely discernable brightening of Tom's eyes. Smiling with satisfaction, Tom settled his weight onto one arm, half propped up over Harry. He stayed like that for several long moments before Harry noticed his fingers hovering near his neck. His nails looked sharp enough to tear skin.

"...quit it." Harry ordered. "That's creepy." He thought of the times before, when Tom Riddle represented a half-known threat, and remembered how cruel the boy could be.

Tom only smirked. "Come on Harry. I'm only getting your muscles to relax," he leaned in close and dared to peck a kiss on Harry's cheek.

Harry only groaned. "Tom." He warned.

Tom's laughter was like spring rain- a hint of thunder, and musical like the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement. "Not in the mood?" Tom whispered in the boy's ear. "You're so...enthralling. When you're helpless..."

Harry sat up at that. "I'm not helpless, Tom. Not even now." The dizziness that plagued him before deserted him momentarily, and his vision seemed clearer too. Strange, how even his body was intent on telling Tom how _not_ helpless he was.

"Settle down." Tom replied smoothly. "You shouldn't get so worked up over it." The smirk played at his lips. "We can just talk, if you don't feel like being intimate."  
"Snogging. That's all we've ever done, you twit."

"I wouldn't mind doing that, or a little more. No one's going to come in here." Tom's smile was almost a leer.

"You just can't help but taunt people, can you. If you're asking for some cuddle time, most people try being nice, you know. The way you're doing it? You sound like Malfoy."

"Ah, it's the worst insult coming from Harry Potter." Tom's hands danced over Harry's chest, tapping out an insistent rhythm.

"You _did_ something, didn't you?" Harry's voice rose. "And you said you didn't know the healing charm well enough!" Indignant, Harry poked Tom in the arm.

"Feeling better, then?" Tom drawled. He pressed his forehead against Harry's.

Harry leaned up into Tom, brushing their lips together. Soft, yes, but when their lips met, there was a graze of teeth against his lips, and touch of tongue. The sensation made him dizzy again. He pressed closer, exploring as far as he dared, and then tilted his cheek to the side, breathing the scent of him.

One of Tom's hands rested on Harry's shoulder, and while they kissed, it snaked just under Harry's neck, supporting him as he deepened the kiss.

Harry broke away, breathing, "tell me how you did it." He too could snake a hand around Tom's defenses, and Harry took full advantage of the flustered agitation to pull firmly on the green-and-silver tie.

Tom hissed, and brought his lips closer, ignoring the pain caused by noose-like hold of the tie. "Just magic. My will is enough…and things feel differently since…since I've come back. I doubt even the Boy who Lived could replicate it. Are you jealous, Harry?" Tom moved Harry's hand away, and began to plant a trail of kisses down the other's neck. He loosened Harry's tie.

"Tom. Magic like that could change you— if you use it too much, no one is going to believe you're human." Harry scolded.

"I don't care. Humanity is over-rated." Tom kissed Harry full on the lips as he pulled himself slightly higher than Harry. He settled his weight on his legs, and held Harry closer still.  
Harry turned his head slightly, and Tom kissed the side of his mouth. The way this was going, Harry had little time to get a word in. "No, it isn't." he murmured, and Tom scoffed.

His warm breath smelled of fall grasses…or maybe of winter's chill. "Humanity is—" Then there was Tom, tickling his stomach. He'd pulled apart just long enough to do so. Harry laughed.

Then they were kissing again, passionate and intertwined. Harry would have been content to continue like that, staying next to Tom and feeling his warmth and his breathing, but Tom was running his hands across Harry's back in a way that suggested Tom was not content for another slow round of snogging.

With a look at Tom and a slow smile, Harry ran a hand against Tom's side. He copied Tom's earlier movements and traced a few slow circles over the fabric.

Just as Tom was guiding his hand _under_ the robes, though, something unexpected happened. The door to the room of requirements must have opened, because Harry heard a few familiar voices. He couldn't think _how_ it opened, though, unless the person knew just what to wish for, and the only person clever enough to guess that was...

"Oh." Hermione dithered. "Maybe this isn't a good time..."

"Harry, are you here? And what did you make this place into?" Ron sputtered something incoherent.

Tom's eyes narrowed, and his expression lost any trace of calm romantics. His gaze was dark, and his sharp nails could indeed draw blood.

Harry shoved Tom, giving him a warning look.

Finally, the last member of their entourage spoke up. "Um, Harry, the other guys were worried about you after you didn't go to the hospital wing, and no one saw you in the tower, you see?" Ginny sounded on the verge of laughter. Or maybe tears.

Hard to tell with girls.

"Anyway, are you all right?"

Harry struggled to untangle himself, but Tom just languidly shifted once or twice and seemed to be fully composed. Harry, on the other hand, knew that his hair was still a little damp (why hadn't they finished the drying charm?), and he could feel his cheeks heating.  
"Er...yeah..." he muttered. "I'm fine…I didn't need the nurse…"

Hermione, while a bit pink in the cheeks, did not question him immediately.

Ron, however, perhaps feeling his status of 'best mate' threatened, continued to glare at Tom.  
Then he got control over himself (with one glance at his little sister), and shook his head, an awkward, foolish smile on his face. "Er. Can we, um...do you need a...'cause I could get a potion for you, if you need it."

"He's fine. As you can see, there's potions in here," Tom gestured.

Ginny was silent as she looked at Tom Riddle. Whether by the castle's influence, or the sheer will power of Tom, the entire school, except for Harry and Ginny, thought that Tom was just a quiet Slytherin boy who rarely came to classes. (*1) Even Hermione and Ron had trouble remembering that Tom was related to the Diary from their second year, the memory modification was that compelling.

"I'm sure Harry really is fine…" she said slowly, her face curiously blank, except for the tightness around her mouth.

"You can always come up to the tower, you know… Where everyone can keep an eye on you two sods." Ron put in.

"I don't know," Hermione looked between the two of them. "Some Gryfindors wouldn't like having a Slytherin in the common room."

Ron's already shaky smile wavered. "Um. Right. Maybe...er. We've missed you at the party..."

Harry glanced at Tom. Most of the hot neediness they'd gotten into had faded, but Tom's fingers were clenched as tight as ever. Harry couldn't quite read that reaction, and didn't know if it was a good idea to leave the boy alone.

"Er, right. I guess we should, um, talk someplace more public then. All of us, I mean. We don't need to go up into the tower." Harry settled for a compromise—someplace public so his friends wouldn't think he was—er, would know what he was doing, and someplace that Tom could come to as well.

Tom's eyes flashes a silver white, and his jaw clenched for an instant, but he pushed those emotions away. Tom lifted his chin, and got up from the bed with all the elegance of a dancer before he held out a hand to pull Harry to his feet.

"Scourgify." He intoned as primly as Hermione ever did, and Harry's muggle clothing and athletic robes were freshly laundered, smelling faintly of soap and herbs.

"Right." Harry said. "Let's, uh, go to the grounds. I bet the crowds have thinned by now." Harry didn't let go of Tom's hand as they ambled towards the door. _Maybe he'll forget to be upset if I don't push him away in front of the others._

Tom looked slyly at the trio, his eyes lingering on Ginny. "You should let them go out first. We can follow in a few minutes."

Hermione sighed. "Is that really necessary, Riddle? Harry wouldn't want us to think you were," Hermione faltered. "Err, getting up to anything. Right Harry? "

"What difference does it make if we leave with them or not? Just come on."

"Suit yourself. But you won't be happy with the result."

Harry wasn't sure if he should roll his eyes or scowl. Maybe both. "We'll be right with you." He promised, and shoved Ron toward the door.

Ron gave him a knowing look and hid a grin from the two girls. He pulled them along after, saying, "Let's go, ladies. Do you think we can rustle up some Butterbeer?"

The door opened and closed while Harry looked at Tom. Tom smiled back at him, weaving his fingers into Harry's hair. Just two steps closer, and Harry was pushed up against the wall. He rubbed against his robes with the insistence of it, the heat of Tom's breath.

He resisted the urge to kiss him, and quashed another thought, slightly less urgent, to punch him. "Tom, quit trying to manipulate me." Harry insisted. "Let's go with my friends. We can always meet up again _later._"

"You wouldn't mind…" Tom returned evenly, "once things got started."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on. We're making them wait."

"He certainly _is_ waiting. I was hoping we could outwait him." Tom muttered.

Harry was about to ask him what he meant, when the door to the Room of Requirement opened a second time, revealing none other than Professor Snape.

Tom quirked an eyebrow in greeting. "Hm. Good…evening…professor."

Harry sputtered a little, annoyed that the Not-So-Secret room was less impenetrable than he'd assumed. They _needed_ to find a more secret meeting place.

"Sorry Harry." Hermione called from the hallway.

"And what are you two doing, cloistered away in a room which ought be off-limits?" Snape drawled. Each syllable was so carefully pronounced that he seemed angrier than usual. "Ten points from Gryffindor for slovenly behavior." He flicked his wand, and Harry's forgotten items soared past them. "If you'll be wanting your Quidditch uniform back, Mr. Potter, you'll need to explain to Professor McGonnagal _why_ I had them confiscated."

Harry would have sworn that the gleam in Snape's eye was malevolent. He pursed his lips.

"Did you hear me, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, sir." Harry bit back, trying to keep his dislike for the injustice for it all _out_ of his tone. As usual, he failed miserably.

Tom wasn't much help. He only smiled sadly and shrugged. "Well, professor. If you'll excuse us. The others are waiting."

"Mr. Riddle. It would do you well to socialize with students with less arduous lives." He said, his eyes just to the side of where Tom stood.

Snape waited for them to leave, which made Harry's mood all the darker. Once they were safely in the hallway, he hissed, "Why did we leave him _in_ there? He's going to jinx it or something so that no students can get in!"

Hermione and Ginny immediately started to protest this new outrage, and Ron patted Harry on the back consolingly.

"Come on, mate. Not even Professor Snape could manage to jinx part of _Hogwarts._ Not permanently, like. I mean, he might be able to put something on the door. Maybe something like, 'Respect the Castle! No snogging herein,' or 'Anyone who snogs in this room will turn bright green,' or some sort of hex like that. Cheer up. It wouldn't last more than once or twice! It _is_ Hogwarts, you know, which is the most Magical Spot in all of Scottland."

Hemione made a _tsk_ing noise. "Hogwarts may be magical, Ron, but it's not _the_ most magical anything. I mean, there were Celtic and other Native Wizards long before the Founders, and they had holy sites and—"

"Quite right, Granger. Weren't we going someplace else?" Tom interrupted. Of all the students, he was the least outwardly bothered by Snape's sudden appearance.

"How many points did he take off? He took off points from _us_ for 'loitering suspiciously.'" Ron moaned.

"Just ten." Harry shook his head.

"None from me," Tom remarked. "He tends to ignore me," he added reflectively.

Ginny shot him a look. "Just drop it."

And so, the unlikely group of companions found their way back outside, where they shuffled down the paths, arguing the merits of various places where one Slytherin and four Gryffindors might talk. All in all, it hadn't been a bad afternoon, Harry decided.

The late afternoon wind felt great now that Harry's head wasn't killing him. He turned to grin at Ron, as though this had been the plan all along. The Quidditch spectators had moved out and across the grounds or else retreated to their different dormitories by the time the group settled on a patch of grass.

Ron and Hermione were arguing about something that happened earlier in the day— something about doorknobs, by the sound of it— and Ginny was following along, offering spirited commentary. Harry snuck a glance at Tom, who was humming an unearthly melody under his breath. He hardly seemed aware of the people surrounding him.

When he saw Harry watching him, he cocked his head as though listening. Harry heard it then, a faint ethereal voice singing:

_Freedom falls like footsteps, down her stony halls,_  
And childrens' breathes, like fairy's bells,  
Ringing, fleeting, to and fro.  
Their laughter is a woodland song,  
their tantrums like the rain  
A summer storm, hot and violent,  
But nothing that could tame  
her.

_Nothing that can touch her hurt,_  
keep her.  
Weep for what the serpent wrought  
To make it right again.  
Anew, a new, a new thing has been  
enslaved…enshrined.  
…the ghost of a memory…  
To do what can't be done.

Harry listened quietly but made no comment. Tom would probably take offense no matter how carefully Harry worded anything. Tom settled down next to Harry and didn't object to the other taking his hand. That was enough. Hogwarts, homework and Voldemort could wait a while.

Harry looked away. _And he says _I'm _melodramatic._ He shoved the other's shoulder a bit, but Tom just took his momentum and pulled Harry down after him—they wound up in a rather comfortable position on a random patch of grass.

"This will do." Tom announced.

And they supposed that it would.

* * *

(fin)

(*1) Ginny and Harry were the only two who fully understood that Tom was magically resurrected from ancient Hogwarts magical defense and the ghost of a Memory...Tom's memory status is kinda like Buffy and the Key/Dawn, for those of you who like oooold (good) TV series….

**Thanks for reading!  
**


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